


Scratch My Back

by Merkwerkee



Series: Mofield [2]
Category: Masters of the Metaverse
Genre: Implied/Referenced Torture
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-23
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:34:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22857070
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Merkwerkee/pseuds/Merkwerkee
Summary: A new job, from a new boss
Series: Mofield [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1643155





	Scratch My Back

The black bag came off his head, and Scicheal Mofield blinked against too-bright light as shadowy figures moved behind it.

He’d been having a quiet drink in an innocuous tavern many, many miles from where his latest heist had left three-quarters of a kingdom in shambles at the sudden loss of noble pedigree papers going back hundreds of years. Mofield wasn’t loyal to much beyond his next paycheck, but stealing from the rich upper classes always made his day just that little bit better.

He’d been paid for the heist and was stopping for dinner before moving out to meet the next potential employer - a high-stakes research company three symbols spinwise on his hopper - when someone had dropped a black bag over his head and injected with some kind of knockout cocktail.

Which had ended up with him tied to a chair in a concrete cell no larger than eight feet by seven. Still, he’d had worse starts to good jobs - for one thing, he hadn’t been roughed up on his way over. Not that an unknown pharmaceutical injection was much better, but it tended to result in fewer broken ribs (if possibly more liver damage).

Mofield leaned back as far as the ropes would let him and smirked coldly at the man in front of him. “So,” he drawled, making sure to draw the syllable out as obnoxiously as he could. “What can I do for you fine gentlemen today?” The enormous brute in an ill-fitting suit sitting across from him - cute, how they thought directional light was going to keep him from seeing them - was silent for a long moment before responding.

“You are Scichael Mofield, thief for hire. You had a partner named Lyndon Burrnow who was killed by Ronald Zenda, and you possess enhanced eyesight reputed to work in places where such things should not be able to do so.” The goon’s voice was monotone and Mofield took a brief moment to wonder what kind of brain damage did that.

Mofield lounged against his seat as best he could. “So you have my life story. Put it in a book, you’ll have the next New Bork Times bestseller. Still doesn’t tell me why I’m here.” The mention of Burrnow was enough to stoke the cold fury that lived in his chest, though he made certain not to let it show on his face. These idiots had just doubled the price for whatever they wanted, but he wasn’t going to let them know that this early in the game.

“Your specialty is breaking into high-security facilities and liberating targets from them.” The goon droned on, seemingly unaffected - or possibly just straight-up unaware - that Mofield had interrupted him. “There is a facility that we wish you to infiltrate, extract as much relevant data as possible, and then leave.”

“Seems right up my alley, which of course you knew or we wouldn’t be here. What’s the facility?” He sat up a little straighter as he spoke, interested despite himself. He could tell by the matching suits on the goon in the room, the two outside the door, and the considerably nicer suit on the guy standing behind the false wall on the left that these weren’t typically the kind of guys who contracted out their break-ins. Which meant somewhere very specialized indeed, which upped the price considerably.

The Meta-End prison.“ Mofield blinked. Surely the guy hadn’t just said - ? "Enforcer Rhodes has just executed one of the single largest mass arrests of pilots in recent history. Get in, find out everything you can about them and if possible facilitate their extraction from the facility.”

Mofield blinked. Pilots were rarer than honest bookies, and Rhodes - _the_ Rhodes - had just netted enough of them to constitute a mass arrest? He himself made it a point to stay under Rhodes’ radar but there’d been a close call or two before he’d figured out how to avoid such unwelcome attention. Nowadays he just had some lesser Metaversal Oversight goons after him, and stayed ahead of them easily enough. Just what the hell had those pilots done to attract the big kahuna?

“Are you out of your _mind_? Nobody gets into the Meta-End without Rhodes knowing about it, and nobody gets out without seeing the Judge. Everyone with half a brain knows that.” Mofield watched Fancy Suit carefully out of the corner of his eye while keeping his attention fixed on the goon in front of him. The man raised a hand to touch his ear, and the goon in front of him spoke again. “There are always ways; getting you in would be…doable. We have agents inside who would help you, once you have arrived. Getting out…would be up to you.”

Mofield leaned back and scowled. “And how many pilots are we talking about here?” he asked, to cover his unease. Breaking out of prison wasn’t exactly new to him - hell, this wouldn’t even be his first time busting someone else out of prison if he could arrange it. But Meta-End was something else; not quite the bogeyman Rhodes himself was, but impressive all the same.

“Between eight and twenty.” Mofield blinked again. A score of pilots? Where had they all come from? He’d been travelling dimensionally for years and he hadn’t even seen that many, let alone met them. Additionally, it would make breaking them out that much harder - while it would pay more, he was leaning heavily toward simple in and out reconnaissance now.

“You do realize I specialize in thieving, correct? Not mass escape,” Scichael snarked, playing for time to see if he could get a better grasp on their angle. There was something about Fancy Suit that was ringing bells…

“You will receive bonuses for every pilot you bring to us alive; dead pilots are useless to us but you will not be held accountable for them.” Mofield nodded. It was reasonably standard, and also nice to know that he didn’t have to stick his neck out for anyone if he didn’t want to. Which, of course, lead to the most important part of the discussion.

“And what do I get out of all of this? I don’t do charity work.” Mofield kept his eyes forward even as all his attention focused on Fancy Suit. The man touched his ear again. “One of the pilots Rhodes acquired is Ronald Zenda.”

Scichael wheezed like he’d been punched in the chest. That bastard, alive after all these years, and in the big house under Rhodes’ thumb? He grinned, more a display of teeth than any friendlier gesture and looked directly at Fancy Suit. “ _Deal_. Who do I say sent me when I meet your inside men?”

Fancy Suit stiffened, then made a gesture that had the false wall collapsing before him. He walked over and stood just out of the circle of light while Mofield regarded him steadily. For the first time, Fancy Suit addressed him directly. “Antonius Basileus.”


End file.
